


Tuck

by SomewhereApart



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A triplet of stories wherein Eric takes care of Calleigh after the fire. 7.14 (Smoke Gets In Your CSIs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most of the evening was quiet. Eric stayed in the chair at her bedside, and they'd talked a little. About nothing, about Calleigh, about the case. Her throat was sore, though, so for much of the evening they didn't say anything. He just held her hand, stroked her arm from wrist to elbow in a slow, measured rhythm. It had been soothing, lulling her more than once into a light doze. She woke the first time when a nurse came in to check her vitals, woke the second time when her still-healing lungs hitched into a sudden cough – the way Eric hovered and fussed was nothing short of adorable. And comforting. And… a thousand other mushy words she never thought she'd use for him.

When her dad arrived, nearly as panicked as Eric had been, she woke again and spent a good forty-five minutes sitting up and smiling brightly and convincing her daddy that she was fine, that he shouldn't worry, that it would all be okay. Calleigh hadn't been able to keep from grinning when her father made Eric promise to see her home when she was released. Duke had to be in court all week, which meant he wouldn't be able to be her caretaker, so Eric simply had to do it. Just had to, young man. See to it that his little Lambchop is well-taken-care-of, and that she gets her rest, and that she doesn't try to do too much, because you know she'll try to do too much. The thought of the coughing spell she'd be risking was the only thing that kept Calleigh from laughing. It was sweet, though. Touching. And exhausting. She nodded off again almost as soon as her father left, after much urging and prodding and insisting that he go home and finish prepping his case.

The last time she woke was just before Eric left, when he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Get some rest, beautiful," he murmured to her, barely more than a whisper, and Calleigh dragged her eyes open enough to get a look at him in the suddenly low lighting of her room. He must have turned the lights down…

"You leaving?" she managed, voice slurred slightly with sleep. He pulled back just enough to fill her vision with his face and nothing else, and everything felt floaty and dreamlike again.

"Yeah. Visiting hours ended an hour and a half ago. I can't stay the night…"

Calleigh's lips curved up in the ghost of a smile. "You asked."

"Yeah." He leaned in again, planted another soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll stop by tomorrow, okay?"

Calleigh nodded, and tilted her head up just slightly. "Eric…"

"Hmm?"

"Do I get a kiss goodnight?" He got that look on his face, the sucker-punch-of-wonder look, for just a moment, and then he leaned in. Their lips brushed once, twice, held the third time, and Calleigh actually felt the flutter of butterflies in her belly.

It ended as smoothly as it began, with Eric pressing his forehead against hers lightly and telling her to call if she needed him before morning, he'd leave his phone on. Tugging her covers up from where they had slouched, he gave her one more whisper-light kiss and then was gone. It was a good five minutes before she realized that he'd never bothered to take his watch back.


	2. Chapter 2

Calleigh was picking her way through a dinner of over-steamed vegetables, a rubbery and mysterious (and untouched) meat product, and Jello when Natalia arrived with a change of clothes for her. She'd been hoping for Eric, but at the sight of the take-out bag clutched in Natalia's hand, any disappointment was instantly erased.

"Oh, God. What is that? Is it edible? Can I have it?"

Natalia actually laughed out loud, then set the bag on the edge of the bed and pulled out two cartons and a small covered bowl. "Sweet and sour chicken from Mr. Yin's," she informed, and Calleigh would have gotten out of bed and hugged her, were it not for the food-covered tray swung over her lap. "Eric told me your lunch left something to be desired, so I figured I'd treat you to dinner."

"You're my favorite," Calleigh insisted, quickly rearranging her tray so the Chinese cartons blocked her view of the inedible hospital food beyond. Natalia – bless her – lifted the tray and moved it to a free table on the other side of the room. "I mean it – oh, you can save the Jello. It's cherry; I'm on my fourth cup of the day."

"It can be your dessert," Nat reasoned, heading back to the bed and sitting on the edge as Calleigh dug into her dinner with an enthusiasm only the truly hungry could muster. "I'd ask how you're feeling, but if the way you're tucking away that chicken is any indication, I'd say you're doing fine."

Calleigh blushed just a little, and made sure to actually chew before she swallowed – she'd done enough choking in the last twenty-four hours. "Hospital food is awful. And yes, I'm doing better. They're thinking of releasing me tonight, if my oxygen levels are still looking good. They were a little low again this morning."

"So I heard."

Calleigh looked confused for a second, then smiled as comprehension dawned on her. "Eric."

"Yeah. He's been kind of adorable all day."

Interest piqued, Calleigh made a point of glancing down at her food so as not to give anything away when she asked, "Oh yeah? How so?"

"He's worried about you. Distracted. And trying really hard not to act like it's the only thing on his mind, but you know how good he is at masking his emotions."

Calleigh snorted a short chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, he's not winning any awards in that category. Let's never let him go undercover."

"Oh, God," Natalia almost laughed. "He'd get himself killed. And speaking of things we shouldn't let him do, why have you not thrown out those god-awful shirts he keeps showing up in? He's wearing the butterflies again today."

"Oh, Eric," Calleigh grimaced, shaking her head – then really processing the sentence. "Wait, what makes you think I have any say in what goes in Eric's closet?"

"Well, I'm not saying you've got him by the short hairs, but a girlfriend's gotta have _some_ say in these things. At least, when the situation gets this dire."

Oh for the love… "Natalia. I'm not Eric's girlfriend."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You know he's in love with you, right?"

"I…" Calleigh wasn't quite sure how to answer that, but she was quite sure she didn't want to admit to what was slowly blossoming between her and Eric. "…yes."

"But you're not dating him?"

"…No."

"You should."

"Natalia," Calleigh rolled her eyes.

"You _should_. Take it from a girl who's ridden that tilt-a-whirl, it's worth the price of admission."

Calleigh just stared for a moment, then decided, "You've been spending too much time with Valera," shaking her head again and turning her attention back to her dinner.

"I'm just saying…"

"And I'm not," Calleigh cut off, the edge of finality in her voice doing nothing to suppress its lightness. Still, she decided a change of topic was a good plan just about now. "Did you feed Cubano?"

"I did. And we played with his laser pointer for a few minutes, and I gave him a catnip toy." She gestured to the shoulder bag she'd left next to the chair. "And there's a tank top, clean underthings, sneakers and a track suit in there for you."

"The purple velour one?"

"Yes, ma'am." She tried for Southern and didn't quite hit it, but Calleigh offered the smile nonetheless. "It was exactly where you said it would be."

"Good." Cal tossed her fork back into the carton of chicken, suddenly full. "The idea of putting the heels and tight pants back on right now…" She shook her head. "I just want to curl up in something comfy and sleep for days."

"I bet. You want me to head out so you can get some rest before Mr. WorryWart shows up? When I left, he was finishing up some late lab work, and treating it like a death sentence."

"Oh good, he'll be whiny," Calleigh smirked ruefully. "I'd feel bad kicking you out."

"Don't," Nat insisted. "You're starting to look a little beat. Get some rest, and I will see you next week."

"Sooner," Calleigh insisted, choosing against arguing for her to stay – she was right, Cal was starting to lose steam again. Instead, she reached forward and began to close up the Chinese cartons. "Stop by this week. We'll watch chick movies and drink wine. Have a girl's night."

"Alright." Natalia rose and tucked the cartons back into the bag she'd brought them in, setting it on the chair that Calleigh had come to think of as Eric's chair. He'd spent the most time in it, after all. "If you get out of here tonight, you can toss that in the fridge and have lunch tomorrow. If not… I suppose Eric can eat it when he gets here."

"I'm pretty sure I won't be able to stop him," Calleigh pointed out, settling back against her pillows as Natalia grabbed her purse and snickered her agreement. Much to her dismay, Calleigh was already half asleep before the other CSI was out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks have to go to Bella7 for letting me borrow her furry friend. Those of you who have read her work should know what I'm talking about. Those of you who haven't… WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?? GO NOW. READ NOW. *ahem.* And now on the to fanfiction…


	3. Chapter 3

Much to her disappointment, Calleigh spent another night in the hospital before finally being cleared for supervised release on Wednesday afternoon. Horatio let Eric cut out early, and he met her at the hospital, then made her doctor give him the latest run-down of her condition and go over the instructions for her medication – an Albuterol inhaler, up to four times per day as needed, bring her back in if she has any persistent difficulty breathing, blah blah blah. Calleigh had already heard it all – twice, for good measure – so she took that time to duck into the bathroom, changing into the sweat suit Natalia had brought her the night before.

Now they were in the car, on the way to her place, and Calleigh was half-asleep with her head against the passenger side window. Trying to stay awake, she forced her eyes open, taking in the bright blur of Miami as it passed her by. No, not Miami. Bal Harbour. They were already in Bal Harbour? She must have dozed off for a while. With a deep exhale and quiet groan, Calleigh shifted, lifting her head off the window and turning to squint slightly at Eric.

He glanced over and offered her a smile. "Hey. Enjoy your nap?"

"I don't know how I can still be tired," she insisted with a yawn. "I've slept for most of the past two days. Well, slept and watched bad daytime TV."

"Trauma. Your body is healing." One of his hands slid over, fingers threading with hers and squeezing gently. "You can sack out again for a while when we get you home, okay? We're almost there."

Sure enough, he was turning onto her street. "Mm. I need a shower first. Last time I showered was Monday morning. I still smell like a smokestack and feel like crawling out of my skin."

"Okay, then. Shower, maybe some dinner, and then bed, yeah?"

"Mkay." Settling herself back against the headrest, she watched the last few houses roll by before he turned into her drive. In the time it took him to kill the engine, hop out and jog around to her side, she had barely unclicked her seatbelt and opened the door.

"Here, let me help you," he insisted," taking her hand in his as she stepped out of the car.

Calleigh just smiled and shook her head, accepting his help. "I'm not an invalid, Eric. Just tired."

"Yeah, well, I'm still gonna help you." He smiled at her in that way that it seemed only Eric could smile, all smitten and boyish, and settled his palm against the base of her spine as they walked inside. Cubano was waiting just inches from the door, and he managed to wind his way through both of their legs about eighty times while they tried to toe their shoes off, yowling pitifully all the while.

Taking pity on him, Calleigh knelt down and scratched gently behind his ears. "Hey, you. I'm right here. I'm home. No need for all this fuss." He meowed again and butted his head against her knee, then propped his paws up on her leg and meowed right in her face. She rolled her eyes as Eric laughed, then she scooped him into her arms and stood. She was just a little off-balance, though, and had to take a quick step to steady herself.

"Hey, you okay?" His palm cupped her elbow again, eyes all full of concern. If he was going to be like this all night, she might have to bean him over the head with a frying pan and just see to herself.

" _Yes_ ," she insisted. "I'm fine. I just… wasn't balanced." She smirked slightly, shook her head, and nudged Cubano's head affectionately with her chin. "Honestly, the both of you. Such dramatic boys."

"Yeah, well." Much to the cat's irritation, Eric liberated him from Calleigh's arms and gave him a quick scratch. "We're good Cuban men, aren't we, buddy? We take care of our women."

"Well, this woman is going to go shower off the hospital." She took a step to close the distance between them, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the top of Cubano's head. "You two can finish up this rather adorable male bonding thing you've got going on while I get cleaned up."

With a frown, Eric released Cubano to the floor and suggested, "Why don't you take a bath instead of a shower. I'll make you some of that tea you like, and you can just soak for a while."

Although the idea sounded lovely, Calleigh was in no mood for a bath. Baths were great when you weren't sweaty and smokey, but right now she wanted to feel the water beat down against her skin, wanted to soap up and scrub down, and let the last few days rinse down the drain. "I'd really rather just have a shower. It'll be faster."

Sighing, Eric followed Calleigh as she headed down the hall toward her bathroom, Cubano trotting after them. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." When they reached the bathroom door, she leaned against the frame, offering him a smile because he still had that overly-concerned look on his face. "But I would like that tea. There's a box of peppermint in the cupboard above the sink." He nodded, but made no move toward the kitchen. Just stood there and frowned over her. "Eric?"

"I just… What if you cough, or lose balance again, or…"

"Eric, honestly," Calleigh dismissed with a roll of her eyes. "You're worse than my dad. I can shower; I'll be fine. I've hardly coughed all day, and I'm not going to be doing any squats in the shower. I'm not woozy; I'm not short of breath. There is nothing for you to worry about."

He took a deep breath and nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. But can you leave the door unlocked? Just in case. If you need me, I don't want to have to bust down a door before I get to you, y'know?"

Calleigh wondered, not for the first time, how it was that he could always be so much more unnerved by her brushes with death and danger than even she seemed to be, and then she remembered the words he'd whispered to her in the hospital two days ago. Floating and dream-like… _I can't imagine living my life without you_. She tried to think of the last time there'd been someone in her life that felt that way, that considered her something vital. The last few years turned up nobody. Maybe she needed to concede just a little to his concern, for his sake more than for hers. The idea sprung into her mind, snapped down to her mouth, and pushed itself into the air before she had fully processed the impulse: "Would you feel better if you joined me?"

She heard herself say it, and was almost unsure if it had been real until she saw the dumbstruck look on his face. Nerves lanced into her gut, twisted sharp and hot. Dear Jesus, she'd just invited Eric Delko into the shower with her. What in the hell had she been thinking?

"Are you okay with that?"

No. No, she wasn't, exactly. The shower was private, intimate. It was the place she was most likely to have a good, hard cry at the end of a trying day of work, and the last place she usually invited her lovers. But he had that look in his eyes now, hopeful but guarded. Like he was yearning for the access, but prepping for the letdown. Determined to be there for him like he was for her, Calleigh nodded her head. "Yeah. Yeah, if you are. I mean, it's just a shower, not…" She quirked a brow suggestively, and he offered a nervous chuckle in response. Good to know she wasn't the only one who had a sudden case of dry-mouthed-sweaty-palmed nerves.

"Yeah, no. Of course. I'll just… wash your back."

With a nod and a heavy swallow, Calleigh stepped into the bathroom. Eric followed. nudging Cubano out the door before he shut it behind him with a click that seemed remarkably loud. Calleigh took a slow breath and ordered herself to knock it off. They were going to end up sleeping together someday, she'd suspected that for a while now. No reason he couldn't sneak a peek a little early. It was just a shower. And it was just Eric.

Needing something to busy herself with, she reached over and cranked the water on, adjusting the knobs until it was the temperature she liked – just a shade below scalding. When she turned back, Eric was still just leaning against the door, watching her and looking for all the world like he couldn't figure out what to do with himself. Oh, how the mighty had fallen, she thought, remembering the days of toothing and a new girl every week. Now here he was, with her – someone he'd known for years – and it was as if he'd lost all sense of game. But that was just it, she supposed. It wasn't a game this time.

"You're a little overdressed for the shower," she pointed out, smirking and trying for levity. Maybe if she forced enough light air into the room it would ease both of them.

"You, too," he replied, taking a step forward and reaching hesitantly for the zipper of her hoodie. When she didn't move to stop him, he drew it down slowly, then eased it off her shoulders to reveal the camisole beneath. Her pulse was thrumming now, nervous energy swirling through her as she lifted her own not-quite-steady hands to begin flipping open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers had drifted down to her waistband, skimming along it, slipping underneath to ease the fabric down her hips. The soft material pooled around her feet, and she watched him swallow hard at the sight of her in just the tank and boyshort underwear.

When all the buttons were free, he shrugged out of his shirt, then pulled his tank top over his head, and Calleigh's mouth went dry. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him shirtless before; she had, plenty of times. Up close and personal, even. They'd been to the beach before, many times in the past several years – including the infamous high-contact, super-competitive lab-techs-vs.-CSIs beach volleyball game 5 years ago where they'd careened into each other, both attempting to save the ball that would end the game. They'd whacked together like battling rams, and crumpled into a sweaty, sand-covered, aching pile. So a half-naked Eric was nothing new, nothing that should have this kind of effect on her. Maybe it was the impending soapy nudity that had her hormones up and jumping suddenly?

Whatever the reason, it was inappropriate, so she turned her back to him and tugged her camisole over her head, taking a deep breath before sliding her panties down over her hips to join the puddle of velour at her feet. She could just barely hear his slow exhale over the spray of the water, and then it was lost in the slide and rustle of the shower curtain as she stepped into the shower and under the spray.

He joined her a moment later, just as she was tipping her head under the spray, the sluice of hot water instantly soothing her. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, and noticed that he was keeping his gaze dutifully on her face. She lifted her hands to run them through her hair, stretching slightly at the kink in her back. He closed his eyes for just a moment before blinking them back open and she felt the faintest pang of guilt.

"Sorry," she murmured, turning to face the spray, removing the temptation. "My, um… my back is sore."

A second later, his hands were on her shoulders, feather light. "Where?"

"Mm. Right in the middle, by my spine." She turned again and discovered he'd stepped closer, their bodies brushing. Her hip had bumped against something incredibly personal and she felt her face flame. Then cursed herself for the immaturity of the blush. _Focus, Calleigh. It's just a shower._ "Don't worry about it now. After, if you want. Can you, um… Can you hand me the shampoo? It's on the, uh, the ledge behind you."

"Yeah." He turned slightly, reaching behind and studying the line of bottles. Calleigh felt the overwhelming temptation to sneak a peek at the goods, but he'd been so polite about her modesty that she suppressed the urge. "Is it… this one?"

"Yeah." She reached to take the bottle from him, but he was already flipping the cap open and squeezing the soap into his palm. "Oh… Eric, you don't have to do that. I can-"

"Shh," he urged, snapping the cap shut and replacing the bottle. "I want to. Let me take care of you, okay?"

It was so simple, so honest, that all she could do was nod. And then he rubbed his hands together, slid them up into her hair and began to massage the soap in slowly and she let her eyes drop shut on a soft sigh. His fingers kneaded against her scalp in slow, firm swirls that sent goosebumps flaring along her skin. Oh, that was nice… that was lovely… She made a soft sound of pleasure, then blinked her eyes back open. He was still studying her face, eyes in the safe zone. "That feels nice," she breathed, her hands finding their way to his hips to steady herself.

"Good," was his only reply, and he kept up the lazy, tantalizing massage for another minute before lathering her hair all the way to the ends and then easing her head back under the spray. She'd been too distracted by the way his deep brown eyes were locked on hers to remember to shut them against the risk of soap. When the eye contact became just a little too intense, she tipped her head forward a little to break it, and a line of suds slipped down her brow. Eric rushed to quell it, but only succeeded in spreading more soap across her skin, and Calleigh hissed and clamped her eyes shut against the sting, cursing softly. "Damnit! Sorry!"

Calleigh pressed the heel of her hand to her eye, still grimacing at the stinging pain. She was blinking rapidly – or would have been if she could open her eye. "Not your fault," she groaned softly, just a little startled when Eric suddenly tugged her head back under the spray, swiping his palm up her forehead and toward her hair.

"You were about to – there was more," he explained, quickly rinsing the rest of the lather from her hair while Calleigh fought to tear enough to flush the soap from her eye. "Can you blink it out? This water is too hot for your eye…"

"Yeah," she grunted, letting her hand fall when he eased her head from the spray and blinking over and over until she could keep her eye open. It felt dry and sore, and she was sure it was red as hell. He murmured another apology and pressed a kiss over her eyebrow, whispered one across her eyelid when she let it drop closed, then pressed another one, slow and sweet and apologetic, to her lips. She told him again that it wasn't his fault, and took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay." She was still blinking heavily, couldn't help it. "Conditioner?"

He complied wordlessly, grabbing the bottle, but handing it to her this time. She glanced at his face, found him all contrite and self-irritated. "Eric… it really _is_ fine. _I'm_ fine." Still, she took the bottle, squeezed conditioner into her palm and handed it back before working it in, one quick pass from root to tip, then slowly from the ends up. "Grab the puff behind me," she urged, smiling encouragingly. "I recall a promise to wash my back."

She'd thought his moment of hesitation was more needless guilt until he reached behind her as she'd asked, his torso pressing against hers for a moment. Her slick skin slid against his, breasts against his torso, his length brushing low against her belly. Oh. Well then.

Calleigh licked her lips slightly, fought to keep her eyes in decent places as he pulled back and turned to the line of bath products again. "Which, uh… which one?"

"The yellow bottle." Her skin was still buzzing from the contact of his, and she could feel the way her nipples had hardened. Before he could turn and see her again, she shifted until her front was facing the spray, warm water beating down over her. She'd said she wanted him to wash her back, right?

He reached around her to wet the soapy sponge, and a moment later she felt the soft brush of it against her shoulders, down her back, up along her spine, down again. "I love your back," he murmured to her, his voice low and intimate. His bedroom voice, she deduced with a little shiver. If he used that one on her too often, she might just be in trouble. As it was, she just managed to breathe a thank-you as he ran the sponge down her arms, stepping a little closer. "Do you want to turn, or…?"

He left the option open for her, but she turned anyway, and he was so close now she could feel his breath against face, and found herself staring at the way the water droplets had ricocheted off her shoulders to splatter against his chest. He was still relatively dry, she realized, and she wondered momentarily if he was cold. Looking up at him again, she thought of asking, but the realization that he was _still_ keeping his eyes safely in neutral territory made her heart flutter just a little and she forgot. Ever the gentleman, huh?

He slid the sponge along her shoulders again, down the outside of her arm and back up the inside, eyes on hers the whole time. It made her feel even more exposed than she thought she would if he was looking at her body, so she gulped down the nerves and told him softly, "You can look, Eric. I don't mind."

Those expressive eyes flickered through a tumble of emotion – surprise, hesitation, doubt, and finally desire, and for once she was thrilled that she was so much shorter than him because she could still watch his face, watch those eyes, as he let his own wander down to take in the sight of her. He licked his lips, and she had the sudden urge to just lean up and nip at him, but she shoved it down. No need to be the hussy tonight; it couldn't go anywhere anyway. Then he swallowed, and asked, "Can I touch you?"

She nodded without thinking and he squeezed the sponge out along the top of her chest, suds running down over her breasts to her belly. His palm was on her a moment later, swirling the soap over her stomach. Eric's breath quickened just slightly; so did Calleigh's. When his palm cupped her breast, swirled soap over it lightly, she surprised herself with a quiet moan. He reached behind her and came back with his other hand free, and as he let his palms coast slowly, almost reverently over her torso – breasts, belly, sides, up to her shoulders and back down – Calleigh thought it might be the most exquisitely erotic thing she'd ever experienced, though she couldn't say exactly why. "Eric…"

He dipped his head suddenly, caught her lips in a kiss so full of pent-up, carefully restrained need that it made _her_ tremble. Palms burned down her ribs, around her back to cup her rear and Calleigh had just enough sense not to tip her head back and drown herself as a wave of _wantlustneed_ swamped her. She thought her head was spinning, until she felt the cold tile against her back and realized it had been her everything being spun and turned and pressed against the wall. He reached out blindly and found the sponge again, bringing it back to her torso and soaping low on her belly, then easing down between her legs tenderly, teasingly. Calleigh's breath was coming quick and shallow, and she didn't realize until he dropped to his knees and began to skim the puff along her trembling legs that she was actually feeling tight in the chest, short-of-breath, a little dizzy.

"Eric, I-"

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then soaped over it, and Calleigh let her head fall back against the tile. How had this spun out of control so fast?

"Eric, I think I need to get out," she gasped, cupping his cheek, scraping her nails lightly along his scalp.

He pushed back up to his feet immediately, studied her, frowning at what he found. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"I think I need the inhaler," she admitted, thankful she was flushed with steam-heat and arousal so that the way she was sure she blushed with embarrassment wasn't noticeable. "I can't-" She coughed slightly, and he reached over to twist the water off. She reached to turn it back on. "Conditioner," she reminded, and with an efficiency that almost surprised her in its contrast from the lazy caresses of a few moments before, he got her rinsed and robed and taking a puff from her inhaler in no time.

When she could breathe properly again, she smirked at him, if for no other reason than he was buzzing around her like a hummingbird, fussing and petting, and asking if she was alright. "So maybe the solo shower would have been safer?" she teased, letting her fingers stroke down his bare torso.

"Yeah, I… Sorry." He chuckled, scratched the back of his head and reached for the towel on the back of the door, drying himself quickly before handing it to her.

Calleigh shook her head. "Don't be. And don't dry off." She tugged the towel from his fingers. "You didn't get to shower."

"I'm alright."

"You sure you don't need to…" She glanced down pointedly to where he'd been good and aroused not long ago. Now he was only half-hard, but the sight of him – her first real, good look – sent a rush of heat through her, and one word sprung inexplicably to mind and made her blush: _Mine_.

Eric shook his head, wrapping the towel around his hips a little self-consciously. "No, I, uh… I'm good. You not being able to breathe properly did a good job of killing the mood."

Calleigh smirked again, tugged the robe a little more tightly around her. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," he promised, pinning her against the sink, and pressing another slow, even kiss to her lips. "Let's get you in bed, hmm?"

Five minutes later she was dry, hair twisted into a loose braid, clad in a t-shirt and sweats, and tucked into bed. Another three minutes and there was water and her inhaler on her night table. Two minutes after that, he had crawled into bed with her, spooning against her back, one arm draped protectively over her middle. She tried to stay awake, tried to savor the feel of him behind her, around her, against her, but it was no use. Exhaustion pulled her under within minutes.


End file.
